


Struck To The Bone

by CautionaryTales



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Because non-binary characters are important and Jehan is precious, Enjolras is an idiot who can't express emotions like a normal human being, Fluff, Grantaire wears glasses and this causes Enjolras' brain to short-circuit, Gratuitous innuendo that can be blamed on writer's block oops, Kissing, M/M, Non-Binary Jehan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:24:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1394329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CautionaryTales/pseuds/CautionaryTales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire moves into the apartment across from Enjolras and spends the afternoon unpacking with Jehan.  When his friend leaves and Grantaire is alone, Enjolras ventures out into the hallway.  The sight that greets him leaves him gasping and Enjolras' panicked state somehow leads to an impromptu dinner date with Grantaire.  Confusion and kissing ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Struck To The Bone

**Author's Note:**

> Because this was asked of me by one of my friends, Jehan's pronouns are pronounced as follows:  
> "xe" = zee  
> "xir" = zeer  
> "xem" = zem
> 
> Thank you to the lovely queerpercy for editing this fic, her commentary and corrections were incredibly helpful. As always, thanks to enjolgay as well for listening to me rant about writer's block and type at her.
> 
> Original prompt from anonymous Tumblr user:
> 
> "grantaire doen't wear glasses much so enjolras doesn't know but few weeks into their relationship, enjolras walks into the musain and there is grantaire, casually sketching something, in glasses and enjolras' brain short circuits"

Grantaire scowls at the sign on the broken elevator and shakes his head, stairs it is then.  Shifting his feet on the floor to get a better grip on the box he is holding in his hands, he takes a few steps forward and places it next to the stairwell.

It takes four more trips to his car before he manages to unload all of the packing boxes he’s brought with him.  That’s also the amount of time that it takes for Jehan to arrive at Grantaire’s new apartment.

The small person hoists xemself over the door of xir convertible, legs dangling over the edge of the door as xe perches there.

Throwing a sweet smile at Grantaire, xe says, “Good morning, love.”

The man grunts in response and dusts his hands off before he makes his way back across the parking lot.  Jehan’s bright blue vehicle sits crooked in its space.  Xe obviously made no effort whatsoever to park in between the painted yellow lines that are provided.

“What the fuck took you so long?” Grantaire asks when he gets close enough that he doesn’t need to yell.

Jehan’s grin becomes shit-eating very quickly as xe holds up an empty container, “I got distracted by ice cream.”

“That’s left over garbage from last week.  I remember because Bahorel called me to drive him to the hospital.”

“Oh yeah, he forgot to mention that he’s lactose intolerant.” Xe tosses the cup back onto the floor of xir car.  “Whatever, it was worth a try.”

“So what gives?”

“It’s hot out and I’m delicate.”

“Delicate, my ass, you’re just a lazy little shit,” Grantaire rolls his eyes.

This makes Jehan laugh, though xe doesn’t deny the accusation.  Xe places a peck on Grantaire’s forehead and wrinkles xir nose, saying, “Ewww, you’re sweaty.”

With that, Jehan bolts toward the air-conditioned apartment complex, flings the door open, and disappears inside.

R shakes his head, damp curls whipping against his forehead, and he slowly follows his friend.  He’s exhausted from moving heavy crates through sticky, humid weather and could really use a shower right about now.  Unfortunately, he can’t leave all of his possessions in the lobby of the building, and his key is buried somewhere in the bottom of one of the boxes.

Grantaire looks up at the complex and for a second, he thinks that he sees curtains rustle and close quickly.  That’s one, two... nine, that’s his floor.  Strange.

When he finally catches up to Jehan, he finds the person with xir hands clasped together and a mischievous glint in xir eyes as xe surveys the entrance.

“Say, Grantaire, what floor are you on?”

The man in question flops down onto the stairs, leaning against the tasteful floral wallpaper.  “Ninth, I think,” he mumbles, head lolling and no doubt leaving sweat stains on the wall.

“Mmmm,” Jehan nods and glides toward the elevator, xir expression mirroring Grantaire’s when he first saw the “Out of Order” sign earlier.  Xir slim finger traces the flimsy piece of paper, pressing it flat to the wall.

Grantaire’s eyes flutter shut and he feels himself relaxing and melting into sleep.  He doesn’t care where he is, he’s just so damned tired.

“Well,” Grantaire jumps as he hears Jehan clap xir hands together loudly and move toward him, “Let’s not dawdle then, time to get a move on.  Up, up, up, sleep is of no consequence now, we need to get you all tucked into your new home.”

R pushes himself off the wall with a grunt and tries to shake away the cloud of exhaustion that has gathered in his brain.  “Sure, let’s do this quickly.”

As Jehan starts toward the smallest package that holds all of Grantaire’s canvases, he stands up in the stairway and clears his throat.  The smaller person turns around with a questioning look on xir face.

“If you even think of touching that box, my landlord will find your body at the bottom of the elevator shaft.”

Jehan winks, “If we set up the bed quickly, I’ll be busy sinking down on another shaft.”

Ignoring the comment, Grantaire says, “That’s nice, put it down.  It’s the lightest one and you damn well know that.”

“Whatever you say, love,” Jehan shrugs and picks up another, arms straining with the weight.  “How did you get all of this in here?  It must weigh a ton.”

“I work out.”

And with that, Grantaire starts making his way up to his floor, two boxes piled in his arms.  Jehan scampers up after him, thinking that xe should have pretended to be sick.

When the pair finally reaches the ninth floor, Grantaire starts to rifle through the boxes for his key.  Jehan sits outside of his door, number “962”, and pouts.  To say that they both made it upstairs with their respective loads wouldn’t exactly be true.  

Grantaire waited for Jehan for ten minutes before he finally descended again to find xem.  Xe was heaving, gulping giant breaths of air in through xir mouth, having only reached floor number three.  Raising his eyebrows, but saying nothing, Grantaire plucked the abandoned crate off of the ground and instructed Jehan to get the lighter ones that were still in the lobby.

It takes another twenty minutes, but all of Grantaire’s boxes are finally stacked in front of his door.

“Aha,” he exclaims as he finds the key sitting on top of a pile of t-shirts.  Jehan glances upward and all but tumbles into the room when Grantaire opens the door.

 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

 

An hour later, most of the boxes are unpacked and Jehan is lounging on the couch that came with the apartment.  Xe happily spoons ice cream into xir mouth and watches Grantaire as he tries to drag a giant cardboard box across the room.

A man had just arrived from UPS with the television that the artist had ordered.  After Grantaire had signed his trademark ‘R’ onto the electronic panel that was presented to him, the package quickly transferred hands.

“You’re the best,” Jehan says as xe takes another giant lick.  “Phish food is the best.  I knew that I was helping you for a reason.”

“Shut up and help me move the fucking TV, Jehan,” Grantaire barks, veins in his neck straining as he yanks the giant object another few inches.

“Mmmhhmm, in a second,” Jehan grins and waggles xir fingers toward the door, waving at some unseen person.  Grantaire decides that he doesn’t care who the gesture is directed at and ignores xem, resigning himself to setting everything else up alone.

As Grantaire continues trying to pull the television out of the way, Jehan holds back laughter at the expression of Grantaire’s neighbour.  He is standing in the hall with a quizzical look plastered across his face.  The guy only turns a deeper colour red as he sees that Jehan noticed him watching Grantaire.

“Hello, Enjolras,” Jehan mouths, because xe’s a good person and knows that the man will be embarrassed if Grantaire sees him staring.  Okay, so that’s a lie.  Xe mostly just wants to see how this will play out.  Besides, Grantaire’s ass is definitely stare-worthy, so it’s not like he can blame the man.

Enjolras opens and closes his mouth slowly before turning around and jerkily slamming his door shut.

“What was that?” Grantaire asks, brushing curls off of his face.

“Nothing.” Jehan smiles and takes another lick of ice cream off xir spoon.

Xe watches as xir friend turns back to the television, scrutinizing it for a few seconds.  Grantaire clutches his shoulder with one hand and rolls it back, wincing.

“I’m going to need a massage after this, damn,” Grantaire complains.

 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

 

A few hours pass and Jehan has finished the tub of ice cream and is currently working xir way through Grantaire’s stash of chips.

“I still can’t believe that you don’t have Doritos,” xe says, rifling through the bag of Cheetos that is currently balancing on xir lap.

“And I thought I asked you to call Feuilly like ten minutes ago,” Grantaire grumbles.  His voice is muffled, and a string of curses erupts from his mouth as he attempts to emerge from behind the television stand he’s building.

“Why do you need him when you have me?” Jehan’s smile is blinding and it has absolutely no effect on his friend.

“Because these instructions are in Korean, Swedish, German, and...” he pauses to flip through a few pages, “Swahili, I think?”

“That involves Feuilly because...?”

“He knows thirteen languages and there’s no English manual.”

Jehan nods slowly, a smile creeping onto xir face.  Xe plucks another cheese puff from the bag and throws it into xir mouth.  “You know, Enjolras knows both Swedish and German.”

There’s a thump as Grantaire smacks his shin on a stray piece of wood.  When he finishes stringing together an impressive litany of colourful language, he turns to Jehan.  “Why does that matter?  He wouldn’t translate for me anyway; too busy jerking off to The Social Contract.”

The other person has to bite xir lip to keep from laughing.  Enjolras had stepped into the hall again and has been frozen in place for a good ten seconds.   Jehan swears that xe can pinpoint the exact moment that Grantaire’s words register in the man’s brain.  Going bright red again, and looking vaguely affronted, Enjolras drags his gaze down toward himself.  He looks like he half expects to see his pants undone and a copy of the book in his hands.

Jehan decides that xe has gotten to the point when holding back xir laughter may potentially be dangerous to xir health.  Folding up the empty bag of chips and walking it over to the garbage, xe salutes Grantaire.

“I wish you luck during your valiant conquests and would like to bring to your attention the fact that I will be making good use of your beautiful television.  I shall take my leave.”

“That’s nice, thank you for being so helpful,” comes the dry response.

“You’re always welcome.” Jehan smiles and walks toward the door, lips quirking up into a smirk as xe makes eye contact with Enjolras.  Turning around to face Grantaire again, he says, “I was going to make a joke about all 55 inches, but that’s a little too optimistic.  Even for you.”

With that, xe disappears, footsteps echoing and fading down the stairwell.

“Well, fuck,” Grantaire mumbles, looking at the half-assembled piece of furniture in front of him.  “Time to break out Google translate.”

 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

 

Meanwhile, Enjolras is still standing outside his door, trying to process his situation.  He is still trying to decide whether Jehan’s words were directed at him and whether the size of his genitalia is of any concern to his friend.  Among this thought, float others about welcoming Grantaire to the neighbourhood, offering his shower since the water in the other man’s is broken (his old neighbour wouldn’t stop complaining), and whether it would be appropriate to help the guy move in.

A few minutes pass before Enjolras snaps back to the real world and realizes that standing in the hallway and staring at the door across from him probably looks rather creepy.

“Right,” he says, and strides purposefully over to Grantaire’s room, knocking loudly on the door that has been propped open all afternoon.

There is a speech tucked away somewhere in his brain, something that has to do with making him feel comfortable in his new home.  Unfortunately, Enjolras’ ability to articulate the thoughts that had been skimming through his mind is obliterated as soon as he sees Grantaire.

The man is crouching next to a half-assembled television stand, tongue caught between his teeth and a hand mussing through his hair.  His eyebrows are knitted together in a mask of confusion and he is frantically typing something into his phone with one hand.

That’s not what Enjolras’ brain decides to focus on, though.  A pair of black, thick-rimmed glasses is perched on the end of Grantaire’s nose.  The man sniffles and pushes them back up toward his face from where they have slipped down.  Enjolras feels like a dying man.  He makes a quiet whimpering sound, quite against his will, and Grantaire’s head shoots up.

Now, Enjolras considers himself and the other man to be friends, colleagues, and rivals at times.  These labels are of no heavy matter to him and he allows them to stick to Grantaire easily when he earns them.  However, the strange heat in the pit of Enjolras’ stomach that appears when Grantaire speaks to him, the way he feels queasy before approaching the man, the quickening of his heart beat when they brush limbs... Well those feelings are ones that the blonde man tries to push aside.

Grantaire spends most of his time arguing with him and criticizing everything he has to say.  He would never like Enjolras, not like that.  It just wouldn’t work and that is the simple fact of the matter.  Except that the fact is not that simple because, despite his efforts, Enjolras cannot seem to completely ignore his body’s obvious reactions to Grantaire’s presence.  Being in such a personal space with the man, watching him blink slowly behind those glasses that frame his face so beautifully.... Shit.

Enjolras is staring again and he really needs to stop doing that.  Maybe he can get Combeferre to text him reminders.

“I, uh... I heard you and Jehan talking about needing translations...” Enjolras says lamely.

Grantaire cocks his head to the side and the other man’s heart leaps in his chest.  “He left ten minutes ago.”

“Yes, I know.  I mean, I saw him leave and...” his voice trails off as he realizes that he doesn’t have a good excuse for the time lapse.

Not seeming to care about the halting reply, Grantaire shakes his head and gently places his phone on the ground.  He crawls onto the couch and asks, “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I’m your neighbour.  Well technically you’re my neighbour because I was here first.  Anyway, I was going to offer you my shower, but I guess you still need to unpack.”

Grantaire’s jaw drops and Enjolras wants to crawl back to his apartment and disappear.  He blames the glasses.  The man just looks so painfully _attractive_ wearing them and Enjolras’ words are getting away from him even though he usually has perfect control.  Even though aesthetics don’t matter to him.  But right now, Grantaire is lounging on a couch, sweaty and tousled and Enjolras couldn’t care less about what he usually thinks.

“Right,” Grantaire says.  “Do you want to rephrase that, or was that supposed to be a joke?”

“Neither?”

“Okay.”

The situation is getting more awkward as the seconds pass in silence.  Finally, Enjolras thinks _fuck it_ and gestures back toward his room.

“I ordered a pizza and was just going downstairs to get it, do you want some?”  That’s much better.  His words seem to have become more coherent and his brain feels somewhat less muddled.

Grantaire smiles and nods, “Yeah, that sounds good, actually.  I was going to get take out anyway and I definitely need at break from this.”  Enjolras can’t help but laugh as the man gestures to his sad attempt at assembling furniture.

“It looks nice,” he jokes, beaming when Grantaire chuckles.

“Whatever you say.  I’m just going to call someone in and say it’s missing a screw or something.”

Enjolras snorts, “Meet me in my room in a five?  I just need to run downstairs and grab the food.”

“Sure thing,” Grantaire lets his head flop back onto the couch cushion, exhaustion resonating through his body.

 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

 

Enjolras nervously fiddles with his pizza slice, nibbling at the corner, still waiting for Grantaire.  He jumps at the soft knock that sounds at his door and rushes over, flinging it open.

"Sorry I'm late," Grantaire runs a hand along the back of his neck.  "I thought I figured out how to set the damned stand up."

"Did you?" Enjolras waves the other man inside and softly presses the door shut with a click.

"No, I think I made it worse.  It kind of looks like a wooden horse if you squint one eye and tilt your head."

Grantaire demonstrates and Enjolras' stomach plummets because he is a grown man and that shouldn't look that cute.  But it does so he turns back to the pizza and shoves the box at his new neighbour, attempting to hide the blush that has risen into his cheeks.

“Help yourself,” he says, and takes his own plate to the couch.

It is a testament to the fact that Enjolras did not think this action through when Grantaire plops down next to him and he has to hold back a whimper.  The man remains unaware however, and takes a large bite of one of the five slices stacked on his plate.

“You, uh, you have sauce,” Enjolras says, “on your nose.”

“Oh, thanks.” He reaches up to wipe it off and saves Enjolras the pain of trying not to softly brush the other man’s nose clean.

“Shit,” Grantaire says, and when Enjolras looks up, he’s bright red.  “I forgot to take off my glasses.  I always wear contacts but I can’t find them and these are absolutely awful.”

“They look good on you,” Enjolras remarks before he thinks the words through, and his face quickly colours to match Grantaire’s.

“Okay.”

“Wow, I’m sorry, that was rude.” Swinging a leg over onto the couch, Grantaire turns to face his companion and sighs.  “I meant thank you.  I’m just not used to... that.”  He gestures to Enjolras.

“Me?”

“No, well yes, but...” Grantaire bites his lip.  “So what is this?  What are we doing?”

“Eating pizza?” Confusion blossoms on Enjolras’ face as he regards his plate.  “Aren’t we?”

“Yeah, I know that,” the other man chuckles, before his expression becomes serious again, “this isn’t like you, though.  This is so casual, just having me over for pizza.”

“Is casual bad?” Enjolras isn’t understanding Grantaire’s point and it’s becoming frustrating.

“No, not really.  But that’s not what I mean, just- God, okay, you make it very clear on a regular basis that you can’t stand me.  So what’s with the sudden friendly invitations?”

“I don’t dislike you, Grantaire.” All at once, the conversation finally makes sense to Enjolras and he is somewhat horrified.

The other man snorts.  “Alright, if saying that makes you feel better.”

Enjolras sighs.  “Look, I’m not the easiest person to get along with, but I do like you.  You’re intelligent and can hold up your end during a debate quite spectacularly, even if your ideals are flawed.”

“Wow, I’m flattered.” Despite this remark, Grantaire looks rather pleased.

It is because of this that Enjolras elects to continue.

“You should be,” he deadpans.  “You are kind and talented and, yes, you’re a pain in the ass sometimes but it’s endearing after the fact.”

“I’m not sure whether to be offended by that.”

“Can you be serious for once?”

“No, because you’re not making any sense,” Grantaire shoots back, and he sounds hurt.  “Look, it’s cute that you’re trying to pad my self esteem, but there really isn’t anything to build up.  I don’t need you to lie to make me feel better, it’s alright, everyone knows how you feel about me.”

“You don’t,” Enjolras mutters.

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, you don’t.”

“What do you-”

Grantaire’s question is cut off abruptly when Enjolras leaps forward and brushes their lips together.

It’s brief, barely a second, before the blonde man fall backward and squeaks, “Oh god, I’m so sorry.”

“Enjolras...”

“No, no, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have forced that on you, it was-”

“Enjolras.” Grantaire says with more force, then, quietly, “Was this supposed to be a date?”

“No.  That would have been nice, but I wasn’t planning this.  I just walked out of my apartment and saw you unpacking, and I may have started staring because Jehan winked at me.  Then I came back and xe got up and left, and you were sitting there with those ridiculous glasses and I wasn’t thinking.”

“You’re rambling.”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras can’t work up the nerve to meet Grantaire’s eyes, even though the man’s voice sounds more fond than angry.

“You need to stop apologizing.” A hand comes to rest on Enjolras’ shoulder, warmth seeping through his thin t-shirt.

He feels Grantaire’s thumb stroke slowly up his neck and he shivers.  When he finally looks up and makes eye contact, the other man’s eyes are locked onto his lips.  Enjolras breathes out shakily and leans forward.

“Is this okay?” He mumbles against Grantaire’s mouth.

“God, yes.”  The man closes the space between them, lips soft and sure.

Although Enjolras still feels hesitant, he allows his mouth to open when Grantaire licks along it.  His self control is shot and Enjolras can’t quite hold back the moan that tumbles out when Grantaire bites his bottom lip, rolling it between his teeth.  He can feel heat begin to coil at the base of his stomach and tries desperately to stop his breath from stuttering when Grantaire wraps an arm around him.

It stops low on his back, gently pulling Enjolras forward until their chests are touching.  Grantaire tilts his head, deepening the kiss.  This moment is perfect and Enjolras doesn’t think that it can get any better until he feels fingers wind into his curls and tug.

He exhales in a rush as shivers ripple down his spine.  His head is tingling so pleasantly and he pulls himself downwards, trying to get more of the sensation.

Grantaire laughs and pulls away from the kiss, breathing heavily.  “You like having your hair pulled?”

“Mmhmmm,” Enjolras breathes.  He feels like he did that time he tried some of Courfeyrac’s weed.

Leaning their foreheads together, Grantaire says, “that all happened rather quickly, I’m still trying to process the fact that you actually kissed me.”

“Was it that unlikely?” This close, Enjolras notices that Grantaire glasses are not, in fact, black.  They are a dark shade of green, bringing out the earthy tones in the man’s hazel eyes.

“Outside of my daydreams?  Yeah.”

“We really need to communicate better,” Enjolras whispers, rolling his eyes.

“We could have been doing this ages ago.” Moving across his face, and down his neck, Grantaire has begun a trailing kissing over Enjolras’ body.  “So why today?”

“Like I said, you look good in glasses.”

“You... My glasses turned you on?  Seriously?” Grantaire returns the eye roll and shakes his head in disbelief.

Nodding, Enjolras smiles gently, tracing the frames with a finger.  “Yes.  You really should wear them more often.”

“Hair pulling; tall, dark men in glasses... Any other kinks I should know about?”

“Would you like to find out?”

Grantaire’s mouth drops open and the look on Enjolras’ face can only be described as predatory.  He moves forward a few inches and tongues around Grantaire’s lips until the man smiles and kisses him back.

Pulling away, Enjolras intertwines their fingers and leads Grantaire off of the couch.

Enjolras spins around as soon as they get through his bedroom door and pins the other man against the wall.  Sliding a hand up under Grantaire shirt, and biting his collarbone, he laughs when the man whimpers.  “Combeferre gets home in ten minutes.  Now how am I going to keep you quiet?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the fic; feel free to leave comments and suggestions down below, they're always welcome. 
> 
> As well, the fic didn't exactly match the prompt, and the reason for this is terrible writer's block. However, I will most likely be including a scene similar to the one outlined in the original prompt in another fic. :)


End file.
